Petrichor
by PartiPooper
Summary: Eric receives an unexpected visitor one rainy evening, and he couldn't be happier about it. (Fluffy Kyman One-Shot; Rated T for profanities and the imaginings of a pubescent male.)


One rainy evening, Eric was laid out on his side across his couch, munching on a packet of cheesy poofs, his eyes intently watching the television as a murder investigation played out on the screen. It was several episodes in and still none of the detectives were any closer to finding out whodunit. Eric was beginning to hope that they never did. The criminal had evaded them for so long that Eric couldn't help admiring the cleanliness with which he murdered, and so couldn't help praying for his freedom.

Just when the detectives were lining up the evidence on a glass board, however, their spiel about what they had to go on so far was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Yet, Eric didn't even so much as look up to the door – he just shoved some more cheesy poofs into his mouth. He laughed as an amateur detective pointed to one of the suspects and suggested it was him. Clearly not! He had gotten too much attention and camera-time to be the guy – the show was just trying to fool the audience into _thinking_ it was him.

While the protagonist detective was requesting an investigation for the pointed-out suspect (a total waste of police time and resources, in Eric's opinion) the doorbell rang again. That time, he glanced across to the dark rectangle of wood, before turning his head to shout in the general direction of the house – kitchen, bedroom, wherever the hell she usually went.

"Mom! Get the door!"

Silence answered him. The house was so still, it had him raising his brows quizzically. And then the doorbell rang again, acting almost as a sound effect for the light bulb that went off in his head as he remembered that his mother had gone out, for one of her _"dates,"_ she liked to call them, or, alternatively, to see her _"friends."_ His mother had neither of those things – she was single, she was lonely, and she went out to fuck people often. She had started doing it more and more ever since Eric had become old enough to fend for himself. He vaguely remembered then that she had said goodbye to him earlier that evening, put her coat on at the door, told him with lips painted a garish red that there were left-overs in the fridge and that she loved him, and then left. That meant there was nobody to open the door. Nobody but him.

Groaning and grumbling, Eric hefted himself up from the couch and bustled over to the door. He hoped it was good, whatever reason he was being summoned for, otherwise he was missing watching the police fuck up an investigation for no reason. But when he opened the door, he found what was there to be neither good nor bad – just surprising.

"Kyle?"

The Jew stood on Eric's porch looking to be the most miserly thing he had ever seen. His clothes were soaked through, raindrops were trickling from his fringe to his chin, and his frown was firm and deep. He was clutching his bare forearms, shivering under the wet fabric of his clothes, and had lost all the proud vigour he usually held himself with. He looked small, and feeble, and so pitiful that it made Eric's heart twist.

"Hey," Kyle greeted. "Do you mind if I come in?" Had Eric been feeling particularly malicious or eager to rile Kyle up, he would have screamed _"No!"_ in his face, he would have slammed the door on his nose, he would have stuck his tongue out at his sorry form from the window. However, Eric, in the face of the most pathetic Kyle he had ever seen, could bring himself to do nothing but step aside and allow him in.

"What happened to you, Jew?" he asked as he closed the door after Kyle, who left a trail of damp droplets in his wake.

"Nothing, I…I just needed some air, is all." Kyle sniffed then. He sounded to be coming down with a cold.

"You won't get any air out tonight, Jew," Eric said. "It's all water." He chuckled when his response caused Kyle to roll his eyes in that way he was oh so familiar with.

Eric was proud of the position he had upheld in South Park all those years: Champion of Making Kyle Roll His Eyes The Most. It was one of his finer achievements. Alas, his amusement was short-lived. Silence descended once more, the same as it had been when Eric had realised his mother – his prime door-opener – wasn't home. Kyle scuffed his wet sneakers across the carpet, looking a sorry sight, and Eric wanted to pry, to open up that little, ginger head of his and see what inner turmoil was going on in there. But Kyle wasn't going to open up, he could see. Not just yet, anyway.

"Well, you know where my shower is," Eric finally decided to say, thinking it sounded perfectly indifferent and wouldn't mislead Kyle into thinking he was _concerned_ about him, of all things. Still, Kyle seemed to interpret it as something beyond indifference, if the small smile that lit up his lips was anything to go by.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, turning and walking away, drip-drip-dripping as he went. Then he all but formed a puddle on the stairs when he stopped in the middle of them to turn back and ask, "Sorry, but…do you mind if I borrow your clothes? Mine are kind of…" He didn't finish that sentence – didn't need to. Both of them knew, just from looking, that Kyle's clothes were kind of – or rather, _extremely_ – wet. He couldn't have gotten any wetter were he to have dove into Stark's Pond. Eric began to wonder whether Kyle, in fact, _had_ dove into Stark's Pond, and then paddled around in there for good measure.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, Jew," Eric said, waving a dismissive hand, so Kyle smiled again, thanked him again, and dripped away again. Of all the things he had done, it was the former thing that had given Eric's heart a seizure. He hated to admit it – never _had_ admitted it, to _anyone_; almost hadn't admitted it to _himself_ – but the sad, sorry truth was that he was attracted to Kyle, and especially his smile.

Eric couldn't quite put a pen to the moment when Kyle had gone from all things awful to everything endearing. It had just happened – that was that – and it was tragic, for though Kyle had grown to hate him a little less since Eric had shown signs of maturing, he still seemed quite far from liking him enough to refer to him as a friend without first hesitating or searching his mind for a better term. As far as Eric was concerned, his feelings were unrequited, and were doomed to remain so until Kyle went blind, deaf, and suffered a concussion that made him forget his previous feelings for him. And so, all Eric could do was fantasise, and dream, and pretend that there was hope. It was all that kept him sane, when forced into Kyle's company day after day by the bonds of childhood friendship and the curse of living in the same neighbourhood.

While Eric returned to lying on the couch, half-heartedly focusing on the search for the suspect happening on-screen, the sound of running water could be heard pattering upstairs, and it led Eric to imagine. He imagined Kyle naked in his shower, with suds trailing down the arch of his spine, water glistening along his legs, and steam curling up around him like a sweltering embrace. He felt slightly dirty doing it, but he did it anyway, so that when the sound of water upstairs cut off, and Eric was brought back to his immediate surroundings, he had no idea what was happening on the television.

Eric turned away from the television in favour of picking up a booklet for a college that had been lying on the side table, to flick through it disinterestedly. He wasn't sure why he was even looking for a college – he wasn't even sure he wanted to _go_. It just didn't feel like his kind of place. He still wasn't sure what he would do if he _didn't_ go to college, but there was probably something or other that he could do out there. Meanwhile, his mind, barely scouring the articles in the booklet, returned to Kyle as he heard footsteps wandering around upstairs, and he wondered to himself whether Kyle was navigating his house wrapped in his towel, or naked. Either one was great.

As he was waiting for Kyle to reappear, Eric came to the conclusion that it might be nice – although he hardly ever deigned to be like that for Kyle in case it caused him to become aware of Eric's compromising crush – to make him something, like a drink or whatever, the same way his mother seemed to always do whenever guests appeared. With that in mind, he threw the booklet back down, shoved himself off of the couch, and went into the kitchen, intent on making some hot chocolate – something that he could enjoy also.

Kyle appeared downstairs just as Eric was doing the finishing stirs, padding into the kitchen bare-footed. Eric glanced up at him as he entered, then back down to the mugs, but snapped his head back to Kyle in a double-take, his heart pretty much giving up entirely, because Kyle was wearing one of his t-shirts, and nothing more, it seemed – one of his t-shirts so big on him that it hung loosely off of one of his shoulders, with sleeves that fell to his elbows and a hem that fell to his knees like a dress. It was a good, long while before Eric realised that he had been staring with a slack jaw. He quickly closed his mouth and turned back to the drinks, berating himself for openly ogling his friend.

"Thanks," Kyle said as he rubbed his forearm almost anxiously, the collar of the t-shirt _slipping lower_ on his shoulder at the movement, "for letting me use your shower, and borrow your clothes."

"You could've borrowed more clothes," Eric remarked, pointedly looking Kyle's outfit up and down. Although, in all honesty, he didn't mind – _really_ didn't mind. In fact, Kyle could have borrowed _fewer_ clothes and there would have been no complaints forthcoming from him.

"Yeah, I didn't want to add to your laundry too much," Kyle chuckled nervously, snapping Eric out of the way he had been gazing dreamily at Kyle's bare, slender legs, _imagining_. Truthfully, laundry wasn't a problem, because Eric wasn't sure that he was even going to wash that t-shirt anymore, not when Kyle had been wearing it, covering it in his scent. Although, Eric realised, Kyle probably smelt more like _him_ at that moment, having showered with _his_ products and put on _his_ clothing, and _wow_, Eric was suddenly desperate to smell a Kyle that smelt like him. "Uh," Kyle said unsurely, quickly snapping Eric out of his thoughts, "is one of those for me?"

"Hmm?" Eric hummed, looking down at the mugs on the counter like he had forgotten they were there, which he had. "Oh! Oh, yeah, here!" He picked them up and took the green mug to Kyle, holding it out to him, but before Kyle could take it he withdrew it, remembering an important fact. "Oh, wait, shit, you're diabetic, aren't you?" Perhaps hot chocolate hadn't been the _wisest_ choice of drink after all.

"Is it low-sugar?" Kyle asked, peering over the rim of the mug into the steamy, dark liquid as though _that_ would tell him the answer.

"Uh…" Eric looked over his shoulder, at the packaging sitting on the counter, and sighed in relief. "Yeah, it is." He had been going for low-sugar groceries lately, as well as other things lacking in unhealthiness, because somewhere along the way in freshman year he had realised that maybe if he lost weight then all those older, meaner kids wouldn't pick on him quite so much, and then maybe it wouldn't be such a squeeze to get through hallways and into classroom seats. He had been right, and in junior year he was slimmer and less likely to get picked out of a crowd. He was still bigger than most though, tall and hulking.

"Thanks," Kyle said as he received it gladly. It was strange, how used to hearing words of gratitude from Kyle Eric had become. Years ago, the pair of them would have rather done all manner of things – stab forks in their eyes, stick their fingers in toasters, lick hot coals – than say such pleasantries as please and thank you to one another. It was just another sign that they had grown up, that they could say such things with such ease.

"No problem, Jew," Eric replied, bringing his own mug to his lips. As he slurped from it, he surveyed the way Kyle anxiously rubbed his own mug with the pads of his thumbs. "You can return the favour," he said once he had pulled the mug away, "by telling me what brings you here."

Kyle sighed, turning on his heel to shuffle out to the living room, and the fact that he was headed for the couch told Eric two things: one, that he was finally ready to open up, and two, that it was going to be a long story.

"It's just…" Kyle began, settling himself down on the cushions, and he seemed so distracted by his thoughts that Eric decided that he could get away with sitting just that _little bit_ closer to him without Kyle noticing and thinking him weird. "…It's just _stuff_. You know?" Kyle finished, unsatisfactorily for Eric's liking.

"Uh, no," Eric shook his head and frowned. "Be more specific, Jew. What stuff?"

"This stuff," Kyle said. Eric recoiled as he had the college booklet shoved into his face.

"_This_ stuff?" Eric took the booklet, turning it over in his hands. "What, you mean, like, future stuff?"

"Yeah, that stuff," Kyle nodded sadly, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

"Well…" Eric shrugged. "What about it?"

Kyle sighed wearily. "Well, it's hard, isn't it? You have to make all these choices so early on in your life, and just hope that they aren't the _wrong_ ones so you don't mess up the rest of it."

"No such thing as right or wrong, Broflovski," Eric stated with a grin, earning an indignant huff from Kyle.

"Yeah, you'd say that. You have no morals." He set his mug down on the side table, freeing up his hands for wide, expressive gesturing. "But it's just…_Ugh_, I have no idea what I want to _do_, Cartman! I mean, I'm having all these expectations placed on me. My mom thinks I should follow in my dad's footsteps and become a lawyer, and my dad is just telling me to do whatever feels right, but, I don't know, _nothing_ feels right. I can't see myself doing…_anything_ in the future, and…Oh, it's such a mess. I just had to get out of my house, you know? My mom keeps pestering me about it."

"Well, yeah, she's a bitch," Eric supplied, causing Kyle to whip his head round, but just before he could snap at him for his comment he said, "_I_ can see you doing something in the future. Something that _really_ suits you."

Kyle blinked out of his angered state, wonderment and curiosity taking over. "What?" he asked, leaning in closer to hear Eric all the better. "What is it?"

For a moment Eric delayed his response, just to allow himself that moment of closeness with Kyle, imagining that they were under different circumstances and Kyle was actually leaning in for a kiss. And then, having allowed himself that, he answered with a wide, teasing grin, "Bookkeeper."

"_Ugh!_" Kyle groaned, falling back away from him and landing on the couch cushions in a dramatically exasperated flop, making Eric laugh loudly. "I can't _believe_ I thought you were going to be serious for once!"

"I'm always serious," Eric said with a wink, earning another weary groan from Kyle. "Really, Jew," he continued, genuinely becoming serious, "I don't know why you're so fucking worried. You're a massive nerd. You could probably do whatever you wanted if you put your mind to it." Kyle sat up straight again, staring at Eric in bewilderment as he kept rambling on, seeming to get lost in his reverie. "Hell, I've never seen you run away from anything in your life. I mean, yeah, right now you don't know what you want to do, but there'll come a time when you will, and when that time comes you'll have all the know-how and the can-do to go through with it. So, really, why worry?…Seriously, though. Bookkeeping. Consider it."

Kyle snorted and aimed a kick to his gut. "Oh, my God, fuck you, Fatass!" he said, but he was smiling as he did, in that way Eric loved. He looked to be in better spirits, and Eric couldn't help the sense of _pride_ that swelled up inside him at the realisation that he had done that. Forget being Champion of Making Kyle Roll His Eyes The Most – _this_ was his finest achievement. Lord of Making Kyle Feel Better and Smile sounded a fitting title, and he bestowed it upon himself gladly.

"What?" he snickered. "Just throwing out suggestions."

Kyle shook his head exasperatedly, and Eric fooled himself into thinking that he detected a hint of fondness in that movement. "You're ridiculous," Kyle declared. He laid back down across the couch, and as he did, he lowered the foot in Eric's gut, to rest it in his lap. Eric's heart worked overtime as he stared down at it, and a thick lump lodged itself in his throat, making him unable to drink anything more. "Thanks, Cartman," Kyle continued, completely oblivious to the way his foot in Eric's lap was stuffing his brunet head with cotton and fuzziness and warmth that made it hard to think. "What you said…that was nice. I needed to hear it."

"Yeah, whatever, Jew," Eric choked, his throat suddenly, unbearably dry.

"And you, Cartman," Kyle said, unconsciously twiddling his toes in a way that Eric was _very_ conscious of, so that he had to resist the temptation of touching those toes, his foot, his ankle, his leg, _oh Christ_, "you could probably do whatever you wanted. You're a lazy asshole," he giggled, in that intoxicating way. "But you're smart too, when you try. Like, in debate class you raise some good points. Well…" He screwed up his nose, far too adorably for Eric to bear. "…When you aren't being racist or bigoted. And you're a talented musician. The music teacher _adores_ you. Well, your playing, anyway. Oh, and you're good with languages!" he exclaimed, sitting up again, pulling his foot from Eric's lap, much to his chagrin, to wrap his arms around his knees. "You're fluent in German, aren't you?"

Eric coughed, trying to jolt some life back into his throat, his brain, his heart. "_Ja_."

Kyle laughed, and Eric found himself thinking he wouldn't mind hearing that laugh forever, wouldn't mind going crippled or blind or mute just so long as he didn't go deaf. "See? You've got stuff going on too." Kyle reached for his mug, took another sip from it, and then reappeared from behind it beaming. "And you make good hot chocolate."

Eric smiled, probably riskily affectionately, but he couldn't hope to hold it back. "It's all from a package."

"Whatever, I was trying to be nice," he said with a shrug, but then he shuddered and stuck out his tongue. "Ugh, I think I was too nice to you all at once there, actually. I feel sick now." Eric only laughed, unable to be anything but delighted when Kyle was in his house, wearing his shirt, drinking from his mug, sitting on his couch, and somewhat, almost, feeling like _his_.

Eric had an absolutely marvellous time while Kyle stayed with him. They watched the ending of the detective programme, all the while making ridiculous guesses about whodunit.

"The dog!"

"The car!"

"The baker!"

"The petunias!"

"The pizza-delivery boy!"

"The detective!"

"But he's the protagonist."

"Yes, the perfect alibi!"

In the end, Eric had been right – not about it being the protagonist detective, but about it not being the suspect pointed out earlier in the episode, so police time and resources _had_ been wasted. Afterwards, they turned over to a quiz show, where they tried to outdo each other's knowledge, but only succeeded in missing most of the questions asked because they had been too busy debating the answers to previous ones so vehemently. Before they knew it, and far too soon for Eric's liking, it was well past the evening and could be considered night-time.

"I don't want to go home yet," Kyle muttered, glaring at the clock as though doing so would make time jump backwards fearfully. Eric couldn't control the way his heart twisted, with remorse for Kyle, and at the magical knowledge that _he wanted to stay_.

"You don't have to," Eric shrugged, hoping he had been casual but knowing that he had probably come off as weird anyway. "I mean, my mom's out so you aren't going to be bothering anyone. And it's still raining, and you just changed into dry clothes, so…" He shrugged again, certain that his offer was coming off as less and less casual as it went on and was on the verge of sounding more like a plea. "…You can sleep on the couch, or…I could get a sleeping bag out…"

Kyle smiled, in a way that made Eric wish that he had his camera on him, and that taking spontaneous pictures of people wasn't a faux pas. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

'_Mind?!'_ Eric thought. _'Mind?! I'd mind more if you left!' _But all he said was, "Nah!" and went to set up a place for Kyle to sleep in his bedroom. As he placed some cushions on the floor alongside his bed and rolled a sleeping bag over them, he had to sneak a glance at his calendar, just to make sure that it wasn't Christmas, because it damn well felt like it. It was better than anything he had imagined before, and that was impressive considering he had spent long hours imagining for a good few years. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised to hear that there were a great number of varying Kyle's running around Imaginationland from all that imagining he had been doing.

"Are you sure?" Kyle asked warily from the doorway, chewing on his lip worriedly.

"Yeah, of course!" Eric replied, and to not sound too eager he added, "Just don't snore, or I'll kick you out."

"That won't be a problem," Kyle laughed, moving away from the doorway with that final reassurance. "I'm a quiet sleeper." Eric knew that much to be true, from previous sleepovers, where he had heard not a peep from Kyle as they all slept in the same room. Not that he had been awake paying thorough attention to the way Kyle slept during those times, of course…Well, maybe sometimes.

Whilst Kyle got acquainted with his bed and texted his parents to let them know that he was staying at a friend's, Eric went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face, and change into an old, worn t-shirt that wasn't ideal for public outings but was perfect for sleeping in, and to take off his jeans to sleep in his boxers. Kyle remained in the t-shirt that was too big on him – the one that had been slipping lower and lower as the hours had passed, showing Eric his tempting skin that he so desired to press his mouth to. It was sheer will-power that had been keeping Eric from pitching a tent all evening.

As they were settling into their beds, the lights off and the covers rustling, Kyle piped up with, "Thanks for taking me in."

Eric laughed, "What are you, a stray?" Surprisingly, Kyle laughed too. Having amused Kyle with one of his jokes was one of the best feelings to Eric.

"I feel that way," Kyle said. "I got turned away by Stan and everything."

Eric raised a disbelieving brow, although Kyle couldn't see it. "Stan turned you away? Seriously? What universe is this?" Deep down, he felt a little sad to realise that he hadn't been the first person Kyle had gone to for help, but he knew it was to be expected. Stan was his super best friend, while he was…Well, he didn't know, but he was something else – something less.

"Well, he didn't so much turn me away, but…Long story short, I ran away to the park when my mom was hounding me too much about my future, and after the park I went to Stan's, but Wendy was there already, so I didn't want to stay and bother them."

"So you came here to bother me instead," Eric finished. He had meant it jestingly, because, honestly, he was far from bothered, and he expected for Kyle to blow up at him for being rude, so he was shocked when he didn't.

"Sorry…" he said, and when Eric turned his head to look at him on the floor he could see the way his back looked weighted down with guilt. "I just…didn't want to go home…" It seemed as though Kyle really thought that he had been a bother, even though Eric had been smiling and laughing with him the whole time that evening. He sighed, unable to believe that he had to spell it out for someone so smart as Kyle.

"After all this time we've been together, Jew, you still can't tell the difference between when I'm serious and when I'm joking? You're a special kind of stupid, aren't you?"

"Hey!" Kyle flew into sitting up in bed, and spun round to glare at Eric; but then he stopped, and his anger dissolved as he seemed to understand the larger part of what Eric had said. He always had focused on the little things first. "Wait, you…you don't mind me being here then?"

"Work it out yourself." Eric rolled over so that his back was facing Kyle, so that Kyle couldn't see how red his cheeks had gone. "I'm too tired to talk you through it. Night."

"N-night." Kyle still sounded a little stunned, but he seemed to shake it off soon enough as Eric heard rustling behind him, the sounds of Kyle settling back down into his sleeping bag and letting the matter rest with him. Eric breathed a discreet sigh of relief. He hated when their conversations bordered on heart-to-heart territory. There was a lot in his heart that he never wanted Kyle to know, for fear of him leaving upon finding out what laid there.

Obviously Kyle's day had been a tiring one, as he was asleep pretty fast. Eric could tell from the way his breathing changed – he knew Kyle's different breathing patterns off by heart. It allowed him to relax, as Kyle could not further interrogate him in unconsciousness, and gave him a chance to just savour the feeling of having Kyle asleep in his room. It seemed such a small thing, but Eric knew that it was more. Kyle was trusting him. Kyle knew the sort of things Eric liked to do to sleeping people from seeing the photographs of what he had done on Butters-centric sleepovers, and yet he still trusted him enough despite that knowledge to fall asleep right next to him. It was nice. It almost felt to Eric, for just one miniscule moment, like he actually had a chance, to prove himself to Kyle and win him over. He laid there listening to the pattering of rain on his window panes, imagining Kyle gifting him with such a chance, and before he knew it he was asleep, dreaming that he had succeeded, and that Kyle was his.

Eric was awoken by a clattering coming from downstairs that made him jolt upright in bed, wide-eyed and scared. His first thought was _burglar_, but that fear was quickly alleviated by the sight of morning light streaming through the curtains, and by noticing that Kyle's bed was empty. Slightly baffled, Eric sleepily shuffled his way out of bed, stumbled across his room to the hallway outside, and down the flight of stairs. He yawned widely and lifted the hem of his shirt to scratch his belly as he went through the living room to the kitchen, and was stopped in the doorway by the sight of Kyle stood in front of his stove looking a little worried.

"Shit!" he was whispering urgently under his breath. "Shit, shit, shit, where's the oil?!"

"Kyle?" Eric spoke up, causing Kyle to let out a startled cry and swing round wielding a frying pan.

"Cartman!" Kyle exclaimed, his shoulders slumping as his fright disappeared. He lowered the pan and breathed a relieved, deflating sigh. "Sorry, you scared me."

"What are you doing in here?" Eric stepped further into the kitchen, getting closer to see what was going on. As he did, Kyle wrung the handle of the pan nervously in his grasp and worried at his lip.

"Sorry. I was trying to make breakfast. To, you know. Thank you for all you did yesterday. But…" He sighed tiredly and gestured to the expanse of the kitchen like it was an impossible maze. "I can't find _anything_ in here!"

Eric paused, to think long and hard about what Kyle had said, about the fact that Kyle had been intent on making him breakfast, like he had many times before in Eric's most domestic dreams. It made him fit to burst with happiness, and he laughed heartily and clapped Kyle on the back. "No worries! I'd be better for making breakfast anyway. I happen to be a culinary pro."

Kyle raised a sceptical brow and rested a hand on his jutting hip, the pan dangling at his side. "Oh, really?"

Eric laughed, rolled up his non-existent long sleeves, and took the pan from Kyle's loosened grip. "Pancakes alright for you?"

"I'm diabetic."

Eric pouted. "Typical Jew: fucking killjoy."

Regardless, he made pancakes anyway, for himself. While he worked his magic in the kitchen, navigating the cupboards and fridge, gathering and mixing the ingredients in a bowl, Kyle sat at the kitchen table against the wall, eating some porridge Eric had quickly whipped up for him, watching Eric as though he was the entertainment to go with his meal. Eric loved every minute of Kyle's attention, and made sure to put it to good use. He started up pretending that he was the presenter of a cooking show, feeling pretty gleeful about the way doing so made Kyle laugh and call him a dumbass almost affectionately, and he showed Kyle the skill with which he could flip a pancake, feeling worshipped for it from the way Kyle clapped him and made awed sounds.

"Can I try?" Kyle asked eagerly as Eric lifted the pan from the stove in preparation for another flip. Eric at first raised a brow at him, wondering why he was acting almost like a child in his excitement at the notion of flipping a pancake; but then he realised that Kyle had probably never flipped a pancake before, never having had the opportunity to what with being diabetic and all. And so, smiling, he ushered Kyle towards him with a wave of his hand, and tried to resist the temptation to wrap him into an adoring hug as Kyle rushed to him looking so adorably keen. Eric practically got to hug Kyle anyway though. He stood behind him, chest to back, with his arms around him, and his hands upon his on the handle of the frying pan.

"You have to hold it like this," he told him, speaking loudly not only to be heard clearly, but also in the hopes of drowning out the loud beating of his heart lest Kyle hear it. Although, Kyle could probably _feel_ the way his heart was skipping and stumbling out of control against his back. Eric was just thankful that Kyle couldn't see how red his face was. "And you have to stand like this." He used his feet to kick Kyle's legs apart. "With your legs braced. And you have to slide it back and forth like this, to get some momentum going." He swallowed a thick lump as he guided Kyle's hands, pulling them back and forth in a way that was so slow it felt sensual.

"R-right." Kyle sounded hesitant, and Eric didn't know whether it was a trick of the light, but the tips of Kyle's ears looked red.

"And on the forward push, you have to lift it up, like this." Eric jolted Kyle's hands up with his, raising the pan up, dislodging the pancake from it. He heard Kyle gasp as he watched the pancake fly up and do a flip, and he grinned at yet another awed sound from Kyle's mouth as he guided his hand forward to catch it, so that it landed back in the pan with a satisfying sizzle. "Don't throw it too high though, or else you'll hit the ceiling. Got it?"

"Yeah!" Kyle exclaimed enthusiastically. It took all the strength Eric could muster not to close the gap between them and press a kiss to his cheek. He couldn't resist inhaling the scent of Kyle though, while his head was right over his shoulder, just before he pulled away and stepped back. Much to his delight, Kyle _did_ smell like him, but very Kyle-like as well – a glorious mixture of them both.

"You try it now," he said, earning a hilariously terrified look from Kyle, his eyes as wide as pancakes.

"What, alone?!" Truthfully, Eric was as much against the idea as Kyle was. He would have much preferred to stay pressed against Kyle, as though they were one entity. However, he knew it was best for Kyle to learn to do it himself, and he wanted Kyle to feel the happiness and triumph of flipping his first pancake without guidance or help.

"Yeah, no hand-holding, Jew. It's time for you to go it alone." He urged him on with a wave of his hand, and Kyle wilted visibly, obviously afraid of screwing up and being laughed at, or being yelled at for getting the pancake stuck to the ceiling (not because it would be a mess to clean, but because it meant Eric would miss out on a pancake).

"Well," Kyle said slowly, unsurely. "Okay."

Eric observed Kyle as he began to go through the motions. He stuck out his tongue in that way he always did when he was concentrating, and looked down at his feet as he spread them apart, putting one before the other and bending them slightly at the knees. He looked back to the pan as he rocked from foot to foot with it and began to slide the pancake back and forth within it, slowly at first but gaining more speed with time and the growing of confidence. He mouthed a countdown for his last, final slides, getting ready to throw with a one…two…three! He raised the pan up swiftly on a forward slide, sending the pancake within flying up and out of the pan, where it did a half-flip in mid-air. Before it could fall to the floor, Kyle threw the pan out underneath to catch it, where it landed folded-in over itself, but on the pan all the same. He turned to Eric almost as soon as he had performed the trick, his smile as wide as his glimmering eyes.

"I did it!"

"You did," Eric chuckled, stepping forward and taking the pan from Kyle to quickly save the pancake by easing it out of its fold with the spatula so that it laid out flat once more. "Not bad, for a Jew." Kyle didn't act affronted or retort, but rather confirmed Eric's theories about his prior pancake experiences, or lack thereof.

"I've never flipped a pancake before," he said euphorically, sounding as though he couldn't quite believe that he had flipped a pancake _just then_.

Eric snickered. "Congratulations on losing your pancake-flipping virginity."

On went the cooking. Eric offered to let Kyle flip some more pancakes, but Kyle declined, not wanting to test his luck too much and end up following his success with a failure. That was fair enough. Eric didn't want Kyle's confidence to be knocked – he was cutest when he was confident. Soon the pancakes were finished, and Eric served them up on a plate and took them to the table to eat with Kyle.

"So," he began as he settled down across from Kyle, pouring generous amounts of syrup onto his pancakes, "how is the future-planning going, Mr Broflovski?"

Kyle gave him an unimpressed look from behind his spoonful of porridge. "Who are you? My mom?"

"No, I wasn't a bitch last time I checked," Eric quickly quipped. "I was just checking. It's the whole reason you came here, after all. Besides, I was wondering whether you'd thought about that Bookkeeping."

Kyle rolled his eyes, making Eric further deserve his self-bestowed title, before sighing and resting his cheek on the heel of his hand as he looked down into his bowl to push leftover lumps of porridge around. "No," he said, "but…I've realised that I have plenty of time to decide. I've still got the rest of junior year and then senior year to go, and after that I've got the rest of my life. I'm still young. Besides…" He looked up at Eric from beneath his lashes, a smirk growing on his face. "An old friend told me that I can do anything, so I don't need to worry."

Eric smiled back, as warmly and sweetly as the pancakes on his plate, but hid the evidence of it behind his coffee mug, and he lacked the usual venom as he replied, "Don't let it get to your head. You're still a lousy Jew."

Kyle only laughed – he knew Eric didn't mean it. Their relationship really _had_ changed, if Eric could say something nice to him and Kyle could believe it, or if Eric could say something mean to him and Kyle could recognise it as just friendly teasing. It gave Eric hope, that perhaps their relationship could change even more, and blossom into something greater. He usually daren't hope, but when Kyle sent him smiling glances every now and again between spoonfuls of porridge, he could do nothing else.

All good things came to an end though, Eric had come to learn, and while he was washing up after breakfast Kyle approached him tentatively, worrying at his lip and rubbing his forearm and scuffing the ball of his foot against the tiled floor, to glumly announce, "I should probably go home now. I need to take my insulin, so…"

"Oh." Eric sounded sadder than he had meant to, so feigned indifference by averting his gaze to the washing-up. "Cool. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can start cleaning up traces of Jewties."

Kyle raised an amused brow, lips quirked in a smirk. "Jewties?"

"Jew cooties," Eric clarified, earning a shake of the head from Kyle.

"Where you come up with these things, I'll never know."

Whilst Eric continued to wash up, Kyle went upstairs to fetch his clothes from the radiator and get dressed. When he returned downstairs, Eric had finished the washing-up, so he dried off his hands to escort Kyle to the front door. As Kyle stepped outside and turned to face Eric again, he was smiling somewhat sheepishly, and with an inkling of sadness, if Eric wasn't mistaken (which he hoped he wasn't, no matter how much he didn't want for Kyle's sadness).

"Well," Kyle said, rocking on his heels on the porch step. "This was fun, Cartman. Thanks."

"Don't mention it…No, I'm serious. I have a reputation to uphold, so nobody can know that I've been hanging with a Jew. _Really_ don't mention it."

Kyle laughed, more amused than offended. "Sure, Fatass."

After a short while, his laughter subsided, and Eric observed with quirked brows as Kyle started looking around and behind himself, as though checking the coast was clear. And then his brows shot up almost clean past his forehead when Kyle flung himself forward into his chest, throwing his arms around him in a rare instigation of a hug. It was brief – Kyle pulled away just as Eric comprehended what was happening, and just before he could make any move to hug back – but it had happened all the same, and it left Eric a red-faced mess. Strangely, Kyle looked a little flushed too when he took a step back, off of the porch.

"See you at school," he said, just before turning and hurrying off to the left, to his own house just a couple of doors down.

"Yeah," Eric murmured after his retreating back. "See you."

He watched Kyle go, and as soon as he was gone, and after he had checked that nobody was there to see him do it, Eric exclaimed triumphantly and fist-pumped the air, beaming brightly at everything and nothing all at once. The rain had gone, the sun was out, and somewhere out there, a rainbow was surely shining.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Ah, what fun this was to write. Especially the pancake scene. I love me some pancakes. Speaking of, if diabetics _can_ in fact eat pancakes, then sorry for the inaccuracy, but as I don't have diabetes and don't know anyone who does I just had to research it online. And so, sorry if diabetics can drink hot chocolate too, or can't drink hot chocolate even if it's low-sugar. Most days I just ignore Kyle's diabetes for ease of writing, but I decided to write him with it this time, because an Eric that remembers and caters to Kyle's diabetes is cute to me.  
****Thank you for reading this, and hope you had as much fun doing so as I did writing it.**

**Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.**


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